Worlds Away
by NightshadeQueene
Summary: (Summary in Chapter One..I own only my own ideas and characters. 3 )
1. Summary

She was never the girl picked first. She was never even the girl picked second-to-last.

Nobody noticed her. She had a dead-end job in a diner with a boss from Hell.

She was slowly losing everyone in her life that she loved. She had nothing - and was certain she was nothing, as well.

So who was this stranger?

This person, with such striking green eyes and such impossibly dark hair. A person, who came into her life at the worst possible time. Everyday, he would come to the diner. He would almost always ask for the same thing, and would almost always seem to be waiting for her.

The funny thing is, she has no idea what his problem was. Not until she finally agreed to go on a date with him.

Even then, she still didn't understand. How could she?

It was impossible! -

Clearly, he must have more problems than she thought..


	2. Ch 1 : Last

_...I was always the one anyone chose last._

 _I was the last person picked if at all, for any given game. I was the last one left in the room, when other kids got adopted. And: I was the last one of the day to get cared for. No matter what._

 _I guess that no one wanted to mess with the girl who had more freckles than a Dalmatian had spots, and whose head of unruly red curls could rat for days. No one, except my best friend. My only friend._

 _She came when I was about seven. I expected her to be the same as everyone else was, and I almost decided right away that I should avoid her. That is, until one of the older kids decided to push me in the dirt and pull my hair._

 _See, she was older than me by about two years. So she was a 'big kid' too. She came right over and pushed Jordan off of me, then got it to up in his face and demanded to know what he was doing. He got crappy with her-him being eleven and a half and her being about nine-and thought he was going to shove her down too. The next thing Jordan knew, she had kicked him in the crotch and busted his nose when he crumpled over. Needless to say, the grownups weren't very happy with her. She did end up getting in trouble, for awhile. It didn't change much from that day on - she just got better about avoiding being punished for things._

 _As she pulled me up out of the dirt, she grinned at me and told me I would never have to worry about Jordan or anyone else picking on me ever again. This made my sniveling mess of a kid self very happy, as I'd never had a friend before. Even my imaginary ones ran away - it was bad. I was also worried though._

 _The new girl, whose name I would later learn to be Louise, was beautiful. She had skin a lot darker than my pasty colored, freckled flesh. It was almost like she'd been born with the perfect tan._

 _Her eyes were darker than anything, but held bits of gold hidden away in their depths. This made her brown hues glow any time she had even the slightest mischievous thought come to mind. Her hair was a deep chocolate brown, and unlike mine, it was nicely wavy and much easier to take care of. Sometimes, since it was so long, and I was so much shorter than Lou, she would hang her hair down over mine so I could pose in the mirror and pretend it was mine._

 _For the longest time, I was hesitate to let myself get too close to Lou. Since she was so pretty, I almost always thought that she would be snatched up like that. There was only once that she was ever adopted._

 _They brought her back a month later._

 _The first place she went when she was brought back, was to go find me. For the first time, Lou was the one initiating all the affection. I could hear the parents arguing with Mrs. Pitterling, they didn't seem happy at all. Lou was all grins and hugs. She told me that she had done everything she could to be able to come back for me._

 _What all she had done, I had no idea. I had never asked her - I kind of wish now, that I had taken the time to ask her._

 _I will forever remember the day we were adopted. Lou refused to go without me. The couple was older, and had never been able to have children of their own. A lot of cases like that came to our orphanage. Initially, they picked Lou. Afraid I would be left alone again, I started crying. Lou hugged me, smoothing down my poorly pulled back curls. She looked back to the couple, then to me. I only caught glimpse of the older woman once. I saw her look at me, then lean over to her husband. Something in how she looked at me was different than how any other adult had ever looked at me. She wasn't disgusted, but instead looked as if something inside her had broken._

 _It was only a few moments, before she came over to us. She looked down to us, and smiled softly. Resting her hand gently on Lou's shoulder, she looked down at me._

 _"You're quite fond of your friend, aren't you, sweetie?" she asked, a soft knowing tone in her voice. Her voice was a nice sound. It wasn't harsh or scolding, like Mrs. Pitterling's was. It wasn't very loud, either. Though it felt so..comforting, to me._

 _"Yes." Lou answered her immediately, though not with the sass she gave other adults. This could be our only chance in a very long time to get out of there. By then, we were both getting older. The older children always had a hard time getting out. I had seen so many kids get kicked out - Mrs. Pitterling hated teenagers, so the limit in her orphanage was sixteen - not eighteen._

 _There had been a few cases, where kids had been ousted at only fifteen-and-a-half. One kid, a girl, had been there until eighteen. A long time before I was there, and nobody ever knew the story the same way. Some kids said she died from some kind of weird sickness there, some said Mrs. Pitterling adopted her herself. Others..said Mrs. Pitterling killed her._

 _Either way, I guess I'll never know. Not that it's my business anyway._

 _At the time when we were going to be adopted, Lou was already turning fifteen in a week. I was only around thirteen, so I didn't have to worry yet about being made to leave. I knew I didn't want to stay if Lou wasn't there, so I just clung to her when the lady came over. Without Lou there, I hate to say it, but I would have been eaten alive. Orphanage children can be so cruel - especially if they have been looked over for someone in the same age range as those left behind. I.e. : Me._

 _"I can't leave her here. I won't. They're going to make me leave soon, and she'll be alone again. I have to stay here to protect her as long as I can."_

 _This seemed to be all the lady needed to hear. She smiled, and nodded at us. Holding out her hand to me, she took my hand with her left hand. Lou's hand, she held with her right. As she led us over to who would be our new father, she looked to us both._

 _"My name is Vivian. You can call me Vi, or Viv. If you want to. That's Eugene."_

 _Vivian seemed to know it would be too presumptuous to ask us to call them 'mom' or 'dad' so soon; she didn't seem bothered by it, though._

 _From that day forward, my life changed - for the first time. I finally had a home outside of the dank, old Victorian-styled orphanage that Mrs. Pitterling ran. Lou and I were officially what we'd been since we met: sisters._

 _I finally had a family to call my own. The Wilson's, Vivian and Eugene, I mean; lived together in a nice little house in a town far from the orphanage. It was more of a rustic community, I noticed. Everyone knew everyone. Everyone grew up with everyone, and nearly everyone would help everyone. Although - it also meant everyone knew who to steer clear of when there was 'feuedin' about.' Basically, there were those families in the town that didn't get along as well - everyone knew about that, too._

 _Being there was such a change, I can remember Lou and I stayed up that whole first night. My new parents had a dog, which we played fetch with and tried to teach how to play dead. She was a mix of a Border Collie, and an Australian Shepherd. This meant she was very colorful, but also extremely fluffy._

 _Her name was Lilly._

 _Lilly had a mischief streak a mile wide - nearly as bad as Lou's was. I have so many memories of them both, it's all that is really keeping me going right now. Seeing as that's all they are now. Is memories._

 _I should have been the one to die. Vivian and Eugene, I couldn't do anything to help them. Vivian was sick, and tried to stop a burglar. Eugene died later, grieving over his wife of forty-seven years. Lou, I could have helped. I should have been the one driving. If I had been the one driving, then I would have been the one who flew through the windshield- not Lou. I wanted to help her. She was still alive for awhile afterwards, but I was stuck in the car due to how we had went off the road. By the time I pried myself out, smashed against the glass of the windshield until it shattered completely and crawled through the broken glass, there wasn't much I could do. I was there with her, all the way up until she died. I tried to walk her to the hospital, but I was so disoriented that my directions were mixed and I ended up missing the hospital by a block. Just one, and I missed it._

 _That is why I am where I am now..._

The crisp Autumn air bites at my nose. The numbness in my legs is what truly draws me back to reality, though. _How long have I been standing here..?_ I wonder _. And who have I been narrating my sob story to? There's no one else here._ As I try to figure it out, my eyes land on Lou's headstone. I can feel grief clasping it's evil hands around my chest again. Stilling any pulse I have; stunting any vain attempts I make to breathe. The hands of grief are not unlike the hands of death: bony, old, and withered - but with a surprising grip behind them.

The only break my frozen face gets from the light, but frigid wind that's started, comes in the form of hot, stinging tears. Not an unfamiliar visitor to my eyes. Lou died late last summer, so the memory is still very fresh in my mind. Especially when I go home. Lou and I became roommates after we left home; we had moved into the city for a change of scenery, and more job opportunity. Every time I go back to our apartment, I am hit with what feels like a ton of bricks. It isn't the same anymore, even Anna knows it. Anna is all I have now, since I don't know where the rest of her litter or her mother, Lilly, went.

Anna has been just as depressed as I have, getting her to go outside for walks is as hard for her as it is for me to remind myself that I need to do it in the first place.

Each step I take back home feels like it is made by a stranger. I walk unseen by anyone, even with the wind tasseling my mane of fiery red curls around. I know this should be something that would be hard to miss; but apparently since I am me, I am exempt from this idea.

When I finally get home, the time is what forces me to come to life a bit more. I would be late to work -again - for the third time this week. My willingness to work whatever shift and however many hours over they need me, is what has kept me from being fired; I'm sure of it.

I hurriedly tie my mess of curls back; as my boss from Hell told me the next time that I forget to, he'll cut my hair off himself. I may not like my hair, but I am not too keen on the idea of someone else being in charge of what happens to it. I have already fried my hair by trying to straighten it for this job.

If I could quit, I would.

The problem is, that I don't have either the time nor the means to search for anything better. Soo..I'm stuck. It barely pays the bills, and most of the rest of it goes for feeding Anna. I can at least say I have complete certainty that I will never be fat. Though, the alternative of wondering if I'll pass out while holding a tray is not much better. Other employees don't seem to have my problems. I'm beginning to wonder if it is because they're living off the fat bonuses they get every other week. I've not seen one. Lou did; but of course, everybody loved Lou.

Slipping on my work clothes, I grab my bag and rush out the door. My car needs work, so I'll be walking. Thankfully for me, I have gotten pretty good at running to work.

I hit the door just in time. One more minute, and I really would have been late. I straighten my clothes, smoothing out the wrinkles caused by running. Tucking each strand of fire that I can reach back into place, I then wash my hands and head out to do my job.

 _Don't forget to smile._

 _You may be unhappy, but the customers don't have to know that._

 _Don't scare the children! They're staring at you!_

 _Annnd..you stopped smiling. Great._

 _Oh, look. The nice lady left you a_ _ **note...**_ _That should be promising.._

My thoughts throughout my shift are scattered. It's hard to focus on any one thing I am supposed to do, because I am becoming very overwhelmed. I wish it were in my job description to crawl in a hole for a hundred years or until I feel like living again. That would be nice.

 _She wants me to do what?_

 _I have to hold her baby. I'm holding a baby. Help!_

 _Aww.. I can't believe this kid is actually cuddling me. And..she fell asleep? Wow._

 _It's five o'clock.. just about..however long til closing and I can go home. Yayyyy...*insert mental sarcasm*_

The rest of the night isn't much different. Things go on as normally as always, nasty customers are nasty. Nice customers seem to have taken a hiatus on diner-going for the day. Babies throw up on me, when I come to take the orders from the then very embarrassed bigger family groups.

The only thing that is out of the ordinary today, is the very last customer I have to serve. By now: I'm covered in bad attempts to clean my apron, my hair is all out of place and I am almost certain I must look like I've been ran over by a Mack truck. Couple that, with my less-than-beautiful appearance already.. I must look like Queen Elizabeth right now, I mean.. Total top model material right here, honey.

Clearing my throat, I shove one of my ornery curls behind my ear and do my best to smile at him. It's so hard though, not to smile like an idiot. A waitress really shouldn't gawk at a customer, but the brilliant green of his eyes alone makes that exceedingly hard to avoid. Someone so pale with such dark, short hair.. Normally, I would think that would be an awful combination.

 _This, though..I could stare at him forever.._

Since I can feel the heat rising to my horribly freckled cheeks, I make myself look down at my notepad. I give him a customary soft greeting, then ask what he wants. I stand and wait for a good five minutes, almost beginning to wonder if he may be taking his time in order to keep me there longer. Why he would want to do this, I have no idea. Although I have had the unshakable feeling that he _might_ be checking me out almost the entire five minutes I've been standing here. Of course I think this is absurd, so I keep my eyes on my notepad.

When I finally get his order, I turn and try not to look like I am running away. The idea that someone could be showing even the slightest bit of interest in me though.. _Is terrifying._ No one has ever shown any kind of interest in me, aside from the friendship I shared with Lou and maybe a few other people. I have already resigned myself to being alone, due to the fact that I look like some kind of dalmatian-ginger mix. My hair looks like a rat's nest. As to my figure? I am highly convinced that I look like a potato, that has been squished onto a squash or some other melon. My only redeeming feature might be my eyes. Crystal blue and eerily clear, I have scared quite a few people; others stare at my eyes and keep asking if they're natural.

I always told Lou I would be alone, and that I could never be nearly as pretty as she was. She would always wave my comments off, and insist I was crazy for thinking I was anything but drop-dead gorgeous.

 _Is that why I want to drop dead every time I see my reflection?_

My walk home is dark, and of course much colder than when I ran to work earlier. I try my best to keep what little tip money I did get hidden - the last thing that I need is to be mugged. Even in the cold air, with my hair blowing everywhere, I am looking at the last tip. It was actually a napkin, written on by the strange customer who left last. It was a single word, with a question mark after it.

He was asking me on a date.

I don't know how they work. I don't know what to do. I'd ask Lou since she always had guys trying to get her attention; it's kind of hard though. To ask someone something if they're six foot under, and you should have been the dead one.

When I finally get home, I manage to set the tips and napkin on the counter and put my apron in the floor. Right before I pass out on the couch. I am so glad tomorrow is my day off.. I haven't had one in so long. I think Lou was still alive the last time I got a day off.


	3. Ch 2 : Falling in the Library

The next morning, I wake up late. It's way more of a relief than it should have been. I am so used to waking up at ungodly hours, that waking up at any type of _normal_ time is almost completely and utterly foreign.

My eyes wander to the floor, as I stretch out. Passing out on the couch was not my best idea ever, though it did beat the times I've passed out in the floor. Or worse, in the tub or on the toilet. _Talk about sore._

A rather loud yawn escapes me, waking up Anna who was sleeping across the room. She opens her eyes and looks at me. One of her ears flicks, but that is about the extent of her movement before she sighs and shuts her eyes again. Seemingly content in the fact that what she heard wasn't actually some strange dying cow-like thing that has invaded her home, Anna curls further into herself and goes back to sleep.

"Sorry, An. " I mumble, rubbing my eyes. I lay on the couch listlessly for I'm not sure how long, before I finally decide to pry myself off the couch and go take a bath. Heaven and everything else above knows that I need one after my last shift at work. My feet are sore from being in my work shoes all night. I have tiny feet - what Vivian called "pixie feet" - so I have to shove extra socks in my shoes to make them fit. It works, but not without the expense of being really painful after awhile.

I walk down the hall, a song that Lou used to sing at the top of her lungs coming to my mind. It might as well of been her theme song. Not that she sang it badly, that's not it. I tried without success to sing it along with her, as I was always too uncertain of my own voice in comparison to hers. Now that she is gone, I find myself randomly singing it at the top of my lungs. I cry every time, but I sing it as loud as I can in hopes that she can hear me.

 _Too bad, it's kinda a dirty song._

Living alone means that I can try out the little 'dance' that Lou made up for it. I probably look stupid, but the only other person in the apartment doesn't care because well; she _is_ a dog. It feels so freeing, yet so wrong in a way. I guess it comes from me being the more 'shy, quiet, does-nothing-interesting-or-naughty-of-any-kind-ever' kind of girl.

Either way, no one will ever know.

My sore feet carry me to the bathroom, where I can finally free them. Kicking off my shoes and biting my lip as I try to bring feeling back into my toes, I set my clothes and towel down on the counter by the sink. My work clothes come off and fly into the basket I set aside for them, followed by everything else, which I put in the basket that's for everything. Carefully stepping into the shower, I try my best to get the water at a temperature that won't turn me into a popsicle - or boil me alive, either. With these lines, it's hard to tell when they will or _won't_ cooperate.

My shower takes me a little under forty-five minutes on most occasions, although today I choose to take as long as I can without turning myself into a giant prune.

When I finally get done bathing, I get out and start slipping my clothes on. In the mirror, I can see my clear blue eyes staring back at me through a sea of freckles stuck on a mess of pasty skin. My fiery red hair looks so much better like this - it is still wet from my shower, so it has remained straight. I wish I could find a way to get it to stay this way. I can actually see how long my hair is, and for once; I can see the bangs I forgot I had.

To try to keep my hair from frizzing up too much, I decide to braid my hair off into two French braids. It may or may not look good with the hat I've chosen to wear today, but oh well. it isn't as if I have ever really cared about what I look like. That's was always Lou's department. Always fussing at me to try to and make myself feel pretty "for once."

I kind of miss that..

Once I've gotten dressed for my day, I feed Anna, then head out the door to 'explore' the world. I have walked this town alone so many times that I no longer care when I go out during the day. I know my way around my area well enough; and, well, I have come to realize I have a _complete and utter disregard_ for my own safety. So, that probably helps.

Today, I have decided to go to the library. It is on the other side of town - or whatever one would call something that is seventeen and a half blocks away. I don't have anything else to do with myself; meaning: I have all day to walk there, spend as much aimless time as I please, then walk home, as I want. I'm still not sure that I enjoy it, though.

The walk there is lonely, and cold. My nose feels frozen, and I can see my breath coming out in clouds like I am some kind of magical dragon or something. By the time I reach the library, my feet are numb. _It's only Autumn - I shouldn't already be turning into a Meaghan-cicle!_ I catch myself thinking as I walk in the doors and look around. Something about the sudden rush of the smell of old books is immediately calming to me. It is like an indescribable warmth , like I am being welcomed home after being away for most of my life. I have never understood why I felt that way any time I was in a library; but I know that I feel most alive with my nose stuck in an old book, and with the entire world being drowned out by the sounds of the stories playing out in my head, though.

I don't remember much about my life before the time when I lived with Mrs. Pitterling. But for some reason, standing in the middle of a large aisle of books, with shelves that reach an impossible height and tables set in a big open area not far away; I can remember a smaller me. A very little me - in some kind of a dress that I kept stepping on. I remember holding a book, and running from someone. Who, I have no idea. I only remember bits and pieces of it, but I know that I was happy. It is an odd memory to have, being that it seems more like a dream to me than a real memory - though something about it. I know, I just **know**. It really happened. _But..where..?_

I ponder this as I look along the aisles for something to read, my fingers tracing countless covers as if the feel of them will tell me which to read. By the time I see something I might be interested in reading, it just happens to be right out of my reach. In frustration, I look around for something to stand on or something to help me reach the book. Along the wall, a really old, really rickety looking, librarian's ladder stands. It doesn't look very safe - to the contrary. Anyone with a small amount of sanity in their heads would give up and look for another book to read. Fortunately for me, I don't.

Pushing the ladder over to where the book is shelved, I lean it against the shelf and start up. The unstable wooden frame creaks in protest when I step on it, the rung closest to where I need to stand seeming to be the most unstable one. I can feel the tremble of the ladder growing worse just as my fingers grace the side of the book I am after.

The moment I have started to pull the book out, it feels like the Earth has decided to dump me off it; like my footing has been betrayed by its closest friend and is being flung off into free space. For the few seconds I am falling, I am greeted halfway through by the fact that I've hit something. It's hard, kind of like the floor - though it feels a lot more like I have fallen on a _person_.

When the world stops spinning and I open my eyes, I take in a sharp breath and feel beside me to confirm to myself that I have not fallen on someone. Unfortunately for me, my hand finds not floor, but someone else's hand. I spring up and immediately turn to apologize, though air gets caught in my throat. Laying on the floor underneath me, is not someone I recognize right away. It isn't until he opens his bright green eyes - and coughs from the wind being knocked out of him - that I can feel heat rising to my face.

I realize that I **do** know him - at least, vaguely. He was the last person I served at the diner yesterday night. He's also, the first person to ask me out. _E v e r._

"Oh my gosh...oh my gosh..I'm..I'm so sorry.." I bite my lip, and push myself away nervously. "I had no..no idea there was anyone behind me.." My face is still burning as I look away and brush some rogue hairs out of my face. I have an inescapable desire to run away and hide forever for this. Oddly, though, he still hasn't said anything. When I cautiously look up again, I see he is now standing up, and holding his hand out to me. _He's offering to help me up, like he was the one who suddenly landed on me and knocked the air out of me. What..?_

"Are you alright?" he asks, such concern in his eyes and his voice that I am stunned into further silence.

"I..yeah, I was trying to get a book.. I'm kind of short so.." I trail off as if I should be the one who is most injured. My head is starting to hurt, I think from where my head must have cracked into his when I fell on him.

A soft chuckle comes from his direction. He shakes his head at me and helps me up. His grip is so much stronger than I would have expected, and a lot more so than mine; my hand is really shaky and it takes great effort for me to accept the help and stand up. When I do, my hand goes straight to the back of my head. I can see on his face how I must have fallen on him. There is a bruise on his cheek and on his lower lip, which are turning darker as I stare at them.

"I'm so sorry.." I whisper, covering my mouth in embarrassment. "I should have been more careful.."

"It's alright, you couldn't have known. I'm sure if I were angry, you would know.." he shakes his head again, giving me a half smile. "You were the one who fell, though. Are you sure you are alright?"

It takes me a bit of time to convince him that I am actually okay, before he reaches up and gets down the book for me that I wanted. After checking the book out, I am walked home upon his insistence that I shouldn't walk alone. It is strange, for some reason I feel more comfortable in his presence than I probably should. Like when I would walk around with Lou, I had no need to worry about anything. True - I do feel a bit of nervousness still. That, I believe is mostly from the fact that no one of the opposite gender - or **any** gender, actually - has ever shown interest in me like this. Walking with him is, and isn't, like when I would walk with Lou. I can't quite figure out why, or what it would be; but..something about how he acts.. reminds me of how I have seen guys act towards their girlfriends. Perhaps, I have developed a misconception based on the fact that he is also the first man to actually act gentlemanly towards me. _Although. He did ask me on a date.._

By the time that we've come to my apartment, I realize that even though I swear I have heard his stomach growl close to like, fives times, he hasn't once said anything to me about being hungry. Instead, the conversation has mostly been about.. **me**. How long I've lived here, how long I've worked at the diner - and if I know what the best or worst food is so he doesn't get something horrible. (Unfortunately, I cannot afford to eat there, so I have no idea. Ironic, isn't it? I can't afford to eat where I work..)

What kind of job that I would rather be doing, how much of the city I have seen. How often I am alone - I think this was because I kind of give off a vibe of 'person-who-has-no-friends,' so I don't find it too overtly weird.

Random things of that ilk.

When I am just about to open the door to my apartment, I find myself turning to him with a question even I was not expecting to ask.

"...Do you want to stay for dinner..?"


	4. Ch 3 : Confusion in the Kitchen

I don't have a lot of food to speak of, but thankfully I don't think that he knows that. While I try to rummage something together, I can hear something that I haven't in a long time. Anna is in the other room, barking and jumping around from what I can hear.

I think I can hear him talking to her, too. It's strange. Anna has been so despondent since Lou died. I don't blame her, I have been too.

To hear her acting like her old self again, sparks the tiniest bit of hope in me. It puts me in the mood to try harder to fish something better out - if I can. Most of what I have is taken up by old boxes of half-eaten snacks, or cans of vegetables.

After awhile of searching, I am lucky enough to find food that is still good. It isn't much, but I think it'll do. I really do hope he doesn't mind it. Lou loved my pancakes, especially when I mixed in frozen blueberries, and poured strawberry syrup on them. I guess that's why I always had an abundance of frozen fruit and different syrups.

Luckily for me, I still have stuff left over for making pancakes my way. I haven't eaten them since Lou died; I don't know what I was saving the stuff for, but I guess tonight is as good a time to get out my "old cooking gloves" as any. Taking a chair over to the counter, I pull out the flour and a few bowls and set them on the countertop next to me. Next, I crawl down from the chair and head over to the freezer to take out the blueberries, then get what little bit of milk I have left out of the refrigerator and set it with the other ingredients.

First thing, I wash my hands and grab my apron. Just as I am going to get the food started, I suddenly remember something very important. Allergies. The last thing I want to do is accidentally cause some reaction to my guest, because I didn't ask about allergies beforehand. No matter how unexpected he was.

Heading from the kitchen to the living room, I softly clear my throat, in effort to get his attention. When he turns around, I can see he must of been looking at some of the old pictures of me and Lou - an obvious conclusion, being he was holding one of my favorite ones.

"Yes..?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. For a moment, I am again distracted by his eyes. Something about his eyes, I just can't help myself; I have to stare.

"I..um..I came to ask you if you were allergic to anything, Mr. -" When I finally manage to squeeze out of myself what I was trying to say, I end up stumbling over it and sounding even more stupid than I already feel. Seeming to sense my struggle with myself, he gently cuts me off and shakes his head.

" _Loki_. You can just call me Loki." he flashes me a soft smile, almost immediately calming me down.

"...Loki.." I repeat, feeling heat rise to my cheeks again. "I..came to ask you.. if you were allergic to any fruit..? I'm..going to be using blueberries in o-our.." I clear my throat and nod a bit. "..Our dinner." I pause, then add "Oh. And strawberries - sort of.." I try to smile a bit at him, doing my best to not be so awkward. Having company over and hosting/visiting with them on your own is entirely different than if you have someone else with you that you know to help keep you calm.

Although I am now almost paranoid that he must think really bad of me, he doesn't show any signs of it. Instead, Loki sets the picture back where it was; simply shaking his head.

"I do not believe so."

"Oh, alright..Great," I nod, smiling at him while at the same time nervously chewing at my lower lip. After a few more seconds of standing there like an awkward speckled potato or a chicken whose head has just been cut off, I turn to head back to the kitchen. A couple of steps from the kitchen, I hear him ask for me. A little confused, I look over my shoulder.

"Yes..?" I ask, uncertain what might be wrong - since something being _wrong_ is the very first thing that my mind jumps to.

"Would you like for me to help you?"

I am far too used by now to being the one who does everything. I haven't had help in a _long time_ \- even **before** Lou died, I did a lot of the cooking for awhile because she was busy with other things. True, I got semi-better at cooking, though most of what we had was either pancakes or maybe spaghetti. On occasion, we would get things to just put in the oven or in the microwave. I will willingly admit; I think we ate much better on those nights than on the ones in which I was the main cook.

"Um..You don't have to help..if you don't want to.." I start, turning to face him again. "You are the company here.. and I am the one who fell on you.." my eyes wander to the bruise on his face, and I feel a pang of guilt again. Messing up something so perfect should have been a crime; honestly, I still don't understand how Loki is not mad at me. "I would..really like to make up for it..if I can.." I trail off again, chewing on my lower lip.

"No, it's alright. It will give me something else to do aside from standing about." he answers me, shouldering off his coat and folding it in half. "Please, Meaghan. I insist."

His one statement is how it started. I had no idea what else to say, so I eventually shrugged it off and led him to the kitchen. This is how tonight ended up being a lot more fun than I have had in forever:

Trying to make food together started out kind of awkward and quiet; mostly civilized on his end, and nervous on mine. From then on, it turned out to be much more than that. The food turned out much better than I could have hoped; from what I could tell, despite the mess we made, he had as much fun with it as I did.

Anna was cleaning up the floor, and hiding away any 'freebies' she could find from the mess we'd made. The time got away from me. By the time I finally looked at a clock, I realized how I have come to be where I am now. Half asleep in my room, curled up in a few blankets with Anna warming my feet, and an assumed to be sleeping Loki pulling me closer like I am some kind of teddy bear. A first, the thought makes me giggle, but it is soon replaced by a yawn. I am not sure how I feel about this; sleeping with - well, _next to_ \- someone I just met.

I, of course, do not have time to thoroughly examine my feelings; sleep comes in and steals my consciousness away far too swiftly for that. For once, I am not laying awake for hours, or crying myself to sleep.

My sleep is long and restful. How long exactly I have been asleep, I do not know. All I know, is that I wake up to not another person beside me - but Anna now curled up by my side. Wiping my eyes and yawning, I head down the hall to the kitchen in search of something to eat. What I find waiting for me, is something I never expected to see in my lifetime or anyone else's. Sitting on the table waiting for me, is most beautiful deep blue rose that I have ever seen. It is so dark in color, that it is almost black. It looks to be have been freshly cut, and is set in a gorgeous crystal vase. The designs on it, are things I have never seen before; let alone the craftsmanship. I have never seen anything, made with near to the immense care and details that have been put into it.

Next to the rose, sits a box with a ribbon on it and a note by it. Aside from that, I can't help but notice the messes in the kitchen and living room made the night prior are all completely gone. In fact; my rooms are so clean, that no one ever know there had been messes made or left to begin with. I have no idea what to think.

In the box, is apparently my breakfast. The moment I open the box, I am overwhelmed by the delicious smells. My stomach growls loudly at me, telling me it would be a good idea to eat it all, right now. To just regret it later.

Which, I am sure I will regret it later.

Aside from the food, the rose, and cleaned rooms, I find my work uniform in better condition than it has ever been. It is clean, smells nice, and almost looks **comfortable** for once. _Talk about unexpected and weird.._

The sight of my work uniform reminds me: I have to work today. I do not have to go in until five, but I find that I am not very excited about it either way.

Being as I have a few hours to kill, I decide to sit on the couch and read my book. It is one of my favorites.. It tells a story of someone who is lost, but who eventually finds her place to belong. Along the way, it is full of adventure, strange creatures, and ancient monsters. In the end, the girl ends up meeting a strange magician and falling in love with him. I don't know exactly all of the ending though, because some jerk tore out the pages. Sometimes, I try to make up the ending for myself. It never ends the same, but I suppose I like it that way. The entire story seems to revolve around a curse or a foretelling of some kind. I know it is nothing but an old fiction book, though there are times I catch new details that I didn't before. Each time, they feel closer and closer to home for me.

I can't describe it, but I feel so..alive every time I read this book. Like a breath of fresh and new life is being breathed into me. All I can say, is that I wish my life were nearly so wonderful as the girl in the book's.

Either way, I could read this book every day of my life and never get tired of it.

Unfortunately, I do not have the time to read it that often. Though it doesn't feel like it has been so long, the time has passed me by quite quickly; I know I will have to go to work in less than an hour.

Said work, being a job I would love to be able to live without - even though that is a laughable thing to think. As my boss so _eloquently_ likes to remind me: "This job is likely to be the only job a girl with my face could have, although sometimes he wishes it was acceptable to make me wear a bag on my head so I wouldn't scare customers anymore." That, as well as telling me I am about as "skilled as not," and "slower than a fly stuck in glue." I really don't like my boss, and would one day like to be able to tell him where he can shove his jack-assery.

Probably the same day I can fix my face.

I've always thought that I am unattractive. I do not need anyone else's _**help**_. I have the "help" of every mirror and reflective surface that I come across; I am always reminded of the fact that my face looks like a war zone of spots. The only people that I can remember ever thinking that I was any kind of pretty, would be Lou and my adopted parents. And maybe..one other person.

I still do not understand him. I felt so..unusually happy, in his company. I felt ridiculously shy and nervous, though I assume I will or would in the presence of someone so sheerly amazing-looking; especially when they for some reason make the decision to show interest in me.

Speaking of; this calls to memory the fact that I still have yet to answer his proposal of a date. I am still not sure about it. I don't know how or what to do on a date, let alone having anything to wear. It might be fun, though..

As I contemplate, I end up somehow blinding myself off of a tray. There was no way the lights in the ceiling should have been able to bounce off the tray that way. And, especially not in the spot where I was standing. What's more; I swear I felt my body heat changing right before it happened.

I have no time to analyze the occurrence.

"You stupid, clumsy, idiot!" Is barked from behind me. "Do you have any idea how much money you just cost me by dropping all that on the floor?!" My boss, red in the face now, growls at me. I stare with my mouth slightly agape; I can't say anything. None of my coworkers are even trying to lift a finger to help me, which makes things so much worse.

I can feel all of my emotions accumulating in the deepest pit of my stomach. All of the loneliness that I have felt, all of the grief I have been going through since the deaths first of my mother, then my father; on top of it, I don't even have Lou anymore. Then; I feel anger. Horrible, terrible, **searing** anger. I have no idea how long this mistreatment has been going on, but I am sick of it.

"SHUT UP!" I snap, turning around to face him. I am shorter than him by... a lot, but it looks like the volume of my voice startles even him.

"I am sick of how you talk to me!" I hear come up and out of my throat, the heat of frustration burning my face so that breathing feels almost impossible. "You talk to me as if I am some kind of dog. Do you _**really**_ think that the peanuts you pay me are worth me putting up with your spewing of hate every time you speak to me? I know you pay me less than everyone else. But the fact that I have to eat has kept me from saying anything. You know what's really the saddest part of it all though, Sir?" I growl, an uncharacteristic feeling of sarcasm washing over me. "I can barely afford to eat at all, much less afford anything else. I don't know what your problem is, but you know what?" I ask rhetorically, looking off to the side as I pick up some of the food I dropped.

"You take take your stupid job and shove it up your ass, because I quit!"

With the last few words, I launch the food at his face. To add insult to injury, I take the nearest drink and splash it all over his pristine white shirt.

He is so mad that he is shaking; I can see a lot of the employees stifling laughs, and I know I have heard one or two of them cheer for me. I can't describe the feeling of accomplishment I feel right now. It is so empowering. So..relieving. So.. _cut off by the fact that I can't breathe suddenly._

I guess that I was so caught up in my little moment, that I didn't feel the sudden smack of my body against the wall; as impossible as it might seem, I didn't feel his fingers digging into my throat either until now. I should have taken into account that it is well known he doesn't take embarrassment or employees back talking him very well. _**Quitting-**_ is almost all but unheard of. I think there was a girl a few years before me coming to work here; she decided to quit, and went missing not long after.

My boss, though a terribly well-groomed man, has a horrible temper. I don't know if it is true or not, but I have heard he may somehow be tied into the mob. Whether he is just descendant from some old mob members, or part of a modern-day version of it, I am not really all that sure that I want to know.

In desperation for air, I scratch at his arm. He is just scowling at me, his cold eyes trained on me as if he is trying to figure out what to do with me. As soon as his decision is made, his expression relaxes and he releases my throat; air rushes in in a way that stings and almost makes my throat feel as if it is on fire, I can feel my eyes watering as well. As if a switch has gone off in his head and another person has come out, he smiles at me-I am not sure if it scares me, or simply is unnerving. Leaning down and helping me up, I hear words that make no sense.

"You're right, Meaghan. I really have been horrible to you." He shakes his head, an expression on his face that reads of apologetic sincerity. Everything in his face reads that he actually means what he is saying, though something in his blue eyes reminds me of how a snake would look when lulling in its next meal.

"I'd like to make it up to you.. why don't you come to dinner with me? My treat.."

He is speaking loud enough that there is no way the others won't hear him. This seems a bit off to me, as if he is trying to make himself look better out of nowhere. Thinking I am just being too suspicious of his uncharacteristic behavior, I shrug.

"You're not mad at me?" I ask, raising an eyebrow in skepticism. The room has gone silent, and I can see that no one else seems to be believing what is going on either, each time I look over his shoulder. As if to off-set everyone's suspicions, he turns around and grins at everyone, announcing that to make up for everything with everyone else, they were going to be getting an extra week of personal time, as well as a raise.

Looking back to me during the commotion of celebrating employees, a soft smirk crosses his face.

"Of course not...Meaghan.." his voice is so smooth right now, drawing me in in a way I never thought possible. Though I find it strange, the fact that he is for once acknowledging me by my name instead of something like "freckle face," it does make me feel a bit better about it. "Come with me?" he asks, raising a brow.

I look away in uncertainty, still not sure I want to. He is up to something, and I know it.

"I don't know, Mr. Diavonni-" I start, only to be cut off by him.

"Johnny."

I tilt my head, slowly repeating his name. It is foreign to me; I did not know his first name, let alone think I would ever be using it. "...I don't know..I think I should probably go home.." I answer, shaking my head.

"Oh, please. Do you never have any fun?" he asks me, nonchalantly putting his arm around my waist. I am about to say 'Not on my salary,' though I don't get a chance to. This whole incident is putting me on edge. I should be passed out on the floor or something by now, _not being asked out to dinner._

"Come, you won't have to pay a thing..it's all on me.." he says, his smirk turning to a smile as his eyes glue onto mine again. I can feel a different kind of heat rising to my face now, I'm not sure I like it. I don't like this man, I don't trust him. _**Why am I even thinking about going out with him tonight..?**_

"I don't know..I mean..why aren't you mad at me anymore..?" I ask, narrowing my eyes and tilting my head. "Shouldn't I be dead or something right now?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He pauses, then shakes his head.

"Oh shush, you silly girl...I'm not _angry_. And to show you there's no hard feelings, I'm going to take you out. - The same way I do **all** the employees who decide to leave my restaurant."


	5. Ch 4 : Memory Loss

p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="0209b7262ecd1885c0786446fbbe413d"Every cell in my body hurts./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="1a611cdf420ebf054bc4f5d4412c1b8b"I can't feel most of myself, and I have no idea where I am. My head is pounding, and my mouth feels like old dry cotton and is so numb I can't stand it. em style="box-sizing: border-box;"What happened to me..?/em/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="db221d50cbce54a1e7a56217c071ac8f"My eyes are blurring, and I feel sick. Wherever I am, it is unbearably dark. As well as cramped; it smells like something died in here. I would try to think of where I might be, if any of my thoughts would stink together in my head long enough. Or were coherent enough for me to understand./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="7401b9fc1724b00ee1e6875c1c45ccde"When I try to sit up, I smack my head on what feels like either heavy plastic or some kind of metal; at the same time, I feel a horrible sore pain spike through me. I immediately want to cry - I can't tell where it's coming from or why I am hurting so badly. My confusion doesn't help me any. When I panic, I begin to freak out and am hard to be calmed down. This time is no different./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="b2fd3f149226e9a9670f37118984176a"Amidst my fear, I force my weak left arm to push up of whatever is above me. My other arm is trapped under me, so it takes time. By the time I am almost out of air, I have the barrier pushed out of the way and can make my way out./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="14c6731087e5e8c857eeca57bfbe7fa0"My 'way out,' being to fall out and further knock the wind out of myself. I lay on the ground for what feels like an eternity. It takes ages for any strength to come, and even then I can barely function. When I try to stand, I am again shocked by the piercing of an ungodly pain; my legs buckle, and I fall again. I am too inebriated right now to understand much, my world is fogged and uneven, it looks so weird to me. Like I have been tossed somewhere where I have never been before./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="058c72910d2e0ffc9badbc0442c23c59"When the rain starts, it washes away the stickiness of where I've been sobbing. It also soaks me to the bone, making this dress I'm in, that I've never seen before, cling to my body as if for dear life. The feeling of the rain is cool enough to help me try to stand again. I am thankful that the icy water also seems to be waking me up somewhat from whatever influence I'm under./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="248cf74668405e1b569726e86a0d9ab0"How I finally found my way home, Heaven only knows. I have no idea what state I am in appearance wise; people keep staring and it makes me feel uneasy. What do they know about me; the stumbling and tearstain-faced young woman, that I don't?/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="4ede9039cc5f49b5a6dcbca0ab62db82"****/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="42d1ab746c812ffe2d97b379448369db"What happened to me, I am not sure that I will ever fully remember. What I do remember comes to me in flashes, or in nightmares. I haven't been able to sleep since then, and I haven't been able to make myself eat, either. Anna knows something is wrong with me, because every time she sees me, she walks up to me and whines while pawing at my foot. When I first came into my apartment, Anna ran right up to me. She immediately began to snarl at my dress, which I still don't recognize. I was lucky enough that whoever decided to throw me in a dumpster threw me in with my purse still tangled around me. Everything was still in it, so I guess either they didn't care if someone found me, or they were in too much of a hurry to remember there were things on me that could identify me if I were found./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="d0152339a8a6e0220f9fedcaa79f8ddb"The thought is still horrifying. Now that my mind has slowly been coming back to normal, I can put the bits and pieces of what I remember together. I most likely should have gone to the hospital, though I have no idea what I would tell them. I am not even a hundred percent sure what happened to me in the first place. I should probably have expected something bad to happen to me, anyway. Johnny Diavonni is not a nice man. The moment he started being nice to me, I should have ran. Whatever happened to me, I guess I must have deserved it. I really wish I'd been dumped somewhere that wasn't a dumpster, though. Because that just furthers my belief that I was regarded as nothing but something to be used and thrown away. However true or untrue that may be, it hurts either way./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="0aa108cfe3e0c2f3ea80e6764196a1d6"I remember quitting my job. That much is still clear. I quit my job, then my ex-boss convinced me to go out to dinner with him. After that, things are kind of fuzzy. I think he got me to go back to his place after we ate, though much past that I can't fully call to mind. I am not sure I want to, anyway./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="78603eaebb6feae5cab557d2ffdf3139"I have taken so many baths; I feel like if I take even just one more, I will melt my skin off my bones. For some reason, this is not too unappealing. At least I would finally be out of my misery. I don't know what I'd do about Anna though..even if I were able to put myself out of my misery, I would still feel horrible that I left Anna behind to starve./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="aea45ea753c289661bd63d336a6aeced"That being said, I have been 'taking care' of my pain and stunting the memories the best way that I know how. It's not something I should be doing - I know if Lou knew I was doing it again, she would be heartbroken. The first time she found me doing it, she actually started crying. She wouldn't let me have anything sharp for months until I promised her I would only use them to cut food or packages, and not myself./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="d3522c076183987a98d959af0bce2c25"I am in the middle of trying to 'fix' my problems, when I notice my rose has died too. It is hung over the edge of the vase, its petals are all closed up and withered. It looks so dried up, and as if it is as full as about as much hope for life that I am right now./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="1173262a4c239cc3b80bd5a418498ea0"I am about to add another thin red line to my arm, when I hear a knock at the door. It is followed by another after a few seconds, quicker this time. Almost like whoever it is that is standing there is upset, or frantic to get me to come to the door. I am tempted to ignore it, but Anna won't stop scratching at the door and barking at me to open it./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="a5d5787aae601aee325d4c45f83ec77b"Finally, I give in./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="455831477b82574f6bf871193f2f761d"****/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="d7cb5504ab33e82357e202b29ed2ffe8"Though I only open the door a crack, his bright green eyes seem to know something is wrong with me. There stands someone who I haven't seen in...maybe weeks. I don't remember how long ago it was now. Loki./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="647e88a1544956b70858e699e8a318e6""Meaghan.. are you alright?" his question is soft, yet full of concern and a look in his eyes that almost makes me feel like he em style="box-sizing: border-box;"knows/em. My stomach pinches, and I lick my lower lip, but I can't make any words come out./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="ef5a4ada7b626e5e64c6bd3e406e3788"When I am quiet and don't say anything, his eyes go from scanning my face for an answer to my wrist I am trying to hide from his view. I don't want him to worry about me. I don't need him to worry about me. em style="box-sizing: border-box;"He can leave./em/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="d693b149581e1897d5a2d7a6b42ee6db"em style="box-sizing: border-box;"He needs to go away - I don't have to tell him what's wrong with me./em/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="b1cacc36c1c664b8c6f7c4dda6f3b0e3"em style="box-sizing: border-box;"It's not his business./em/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="12e5ed93808f3b89a29a7abf20cd56c0"em style="box-sizing: border-box;"Why should he care, anyway?/em/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="a55c2d15a95c7b495bece671d4c6767f"em style="box-sizing: border-box;"...More than that, though..What..would he think..? If he knew..?/em/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="9361594c47b8730aaf58528a901abc63"em style="box-sizing: border-box;"He would probably think I deserved it, too.../em/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="6461301bf8d90c0eb9fa20cfe7cdd7c3"em style="box-sizing: border-box;"After all, whatever happened..it as my fault. I went of my own free will../em/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="99907b45a0f22002f8a0067060a08cde""You're bleeding." he sounds startled now, looking directly at my bleeding cuts. I shake my head, trying to squeeze out the words to tell him I'm fine; nothing comes out and my eyes start to water instead. I hate to see the look of sympathy and concern for me in his eyes. em style="box-sizing: border-box;"No one should have to care about me./em/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="51ebdb283f330a290ee977c478225245"em style="box-sizing: border-box;"I can worry about myself on my own../em/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="14d41bf6958f13739821842e0092c306""Meaghan...let me in, please?"/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="9e57b20b60c0d28fa93cbb651d705eb9"In spite of the fact that I am trying to shut the door, Loki seems to be determined to get past it anyway. Something in how he says it, it hits me in just the right way for me to start crying again. My hand falls away from the door, going to try and smear away my tears so he won't see me cry. I feel so terrible, so guilty..so...em style="box-sizing: border-box;"ruined/em. Why is he trying so hard to help me..? I was nice to him before..that doesn't mean that I have to be now..does it?/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="431d8e6977b6cc028fa41cd01e68bc12"To my surprise, he doesn't say any more for the moment. Instead, he picks me up bridal style and carries me into the kitchen, setting me on the counter. The old brass scissors I stole from Mrs. Pitterling years ago, are pried out of my hand and discarded into the sink. Cold water is ran over my cuts, then I hear him ripping off pieces of his shirt. I can feel where Loki is wrapping my wrists up, though it barely registers./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="82aefa20b0597cfbf05a82546245d1da"When both wrists have been successfully bandaged, he turns my face so he can look at me. His brows are knit in concentration as if he is trying to read me. He brushes my tears away with his thumb and picks me up again, seeming to have given up on reading me for now. After picking me up again, I am wrapped up in a blanket and carried to the couch; there, he pulls me close and lets me cry without doing anything more than hugging me. In case of the blanket, I am guessing that he remembered where I kept them from the last time he was here and I got it out - as well as the fact that I think I made mention that this blanket was my favorite./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="30ce4bcc6cdc98bfb92319da9f264c23"How long I am there, and how long I cry for, I do not remember. All I remember, is falling asleep at some point. Too exhausted to think much about it, but feeling safe enough to close my eyes in the first place. When I wake up, I am surprised and somewhat relieved, to see that he hasn't left yet. He is still in the same spot as earlier, silently waiting for me to wake up./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="05d2edb6f921ba436961d823ff65fb25"For some reason, this helps ease away some of the sick feeling in my stomach that has been rooted there for so long. Anna seems content as well, I think she got up on the couch too..I can't feel my feet so I think she is laying on them. For once...I think I feel a little bit better./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="0a886756901c27f0780e2b8fc78c4636"Maybe./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="0efa02edc57b0769050a30e613efa4fe"****br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /My recuperation is slow, and by all means extremely painstaking. I have a hard time speaking still, and I can't smile. I still flinch sometimes when I'm touched, though I've tried to stop. It's difficult. I'm glad Loki has been so patient with me, and has been being so nice to me. He comes over every day to help me, and insists that I make sure I sleep when I need to and eat what food he leaves for me. I have a hard time making myself function, so he has been taking care of everything. My chores. My food. Anna. Even my bills seem to have become nonexistent./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="1588446403bb128a261b8aff77b8dc12"Why he is doing all of this, I still don't understand. He doesn't know me. I barely know him. I don't even know where he came from. And yet, he is treating me as if he has known me all my life./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="4ede0d11c64e4ac9403ba823d8e07503"At night when I can't sleep, all I have to do is call the number he gave me. I don't have to say anything; he comes right over if he isn't still with me, makes sure I am comfortable, reads to me until I fall asleep and then when I wake up I have a note and food for breakfast./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="9f23d44828c344a30c688224c6e570e0"Something else that strikes me as strange.. This morning when I woke up, my one blue rose multiplied into a dozen beautiful roses. The soft smell of them filled the kitchen, and for some reason gave me an unusual feeling of comfort./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="dc7739737ef9ed599cd8cbf3b3ef0e2d"Although I am still having trouble functioning, Anna seems to be doing much better now. She looks to have picked up some weight, and has started following me around again. If anything, I can be glad for the fact that Anna is doing better. She'd make a good mother, I think. I'm not sure if she'll have the chance, but I think she'd make some really cute puppies..just like her mama did./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="1a4d74150b0b30c7fc82e1c9e38e50e9"Without having work to go to anymore, or the desire to look for a new job, I don't really have much to do. Aside from waiting for Loki to come to my apartment, since I know there's more chance than not that he will./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="a968e20108a5bfa9ef4ff5f2c8035c38"The only question, is when; em style="box-sizing: border-box;"and what do I do until then?/em/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="e60df0d9d5f31b8a69dafac110f8f0d4"****/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="a7b6760057239f553846a09cc509c6aa"As for where Loki was, he was currently sat back in one of his best thinking spots; he'd gone home to try to get his thoughts straight./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="6facfad9c397f3f71d4baaa6a7930540"em style="box-sizing: border-box;"Something is not right with her. I do not believe I am the only one to think so, as her pet dog seems to be aware of it as well. What exactly it is, I have yet to figure out. While I have my suspicions, I do not think it best to ask her. I would likely not get an answer anyway- Meaghan hasn't been talking. She has not spoken a single word in a very long time; she seems to be quite on edge as well. Whatever happened to her, I think must have been very bad./em/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="6290f65601b0b438b3daf47befcbda4a"em style="box-sizing: border-box;"In which case, I would really like to know. Whoever it was..has me to deal with when I find out who they are./em/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="af6bf61c7106c26f7dd1aac1ccc1ff57"Doing which, took him awhile. There was a lot to think about. Meaghan's strange change in behavior, for one. That, as well as his suspicions of her. Not bad ones, however./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="d8757ef66b3565b7208fd7d66992b1f3"He had had a friend, when he was very young. Still a child, in fact. Thor was not a great amount older, though he had seemed to be just as fond of their friend as Loki was. To their mother, it seemed like she thought her one of her own children. She had been friends with Meaghan's mother - her birth mother - before their home was destroyed. Meaghan's name wasn't actually Meaghan, though, it was Imora. That is, if Loki's assumptions were correct./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="f444e499446d477c80a156c3a9b7719b"The only real way that he would know, would be to ask the one person he knew he could get answers from. His parents had not said a word of it since the news came of the loss of Meaghan's home; no one else had either, it was odd. It had began to cross Loki's mind that maybe they didn't remember - by an act not their own. If that were true, it would also mean that his memories were style="box-sizing: border-box;" But..for what purpose..? /em/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="55c1a43a5cc05e88b97bab1eee3cba65""Heimdall."/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="0dc15887f60af8ab5c678fe0dc3f4d2d"Though Loki knew he need not to announce his presence, it came as a force of habit./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="4290ac798216598e12aa0c1a449d3a93""I have need of your help."/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="29de48c17454f2635416ac9d1e37f06e""You wish to know the identity of the Earth woman." His response was flat, manner-of-fact. He knew both why Loki had come, as well as the answer to all of his questions. Some of which, he would be glad for. Others, he would wish he had never been told./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="cec88dddf34efff23c1f6539993c01d4""I do."/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="52a61566591088b03820d57d77bd9a94""You think her to be a friend from your childhood. I believe it has been said she died, with the rest of her people. I also believe I was informed, that no one was supposed to remember the occurrence." He said, shifting where he stood. There was no real change in his tone, save for a slight rise at the end, suggesting a question./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="1657c344249e4a928beac9977c8fc76c""Nor em style="box-sizing: border-box;"her/em. Though I do; I want to know. Tell me, am I right?"/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="611afc1971f73bc8bbc66bc42c6033c7"Heimdall paused. He sighed softly, then slowly nodded to him. "You are. She lives." He seemed to be reluctant to give in, though added simply "You are correct."/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="72b65699a6dbfb641b710225d15ca812""You knew. You have always known." Loki frowned. "Yet you did not think to tell us, why?"/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="531db7f4a7dc9cf4010030bff76ad688""I had no need to tell you. To do so would be against the wishes of my king."/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="37aa4005224c9c348187e2765fc26a12"Loki shook his head "Had you of informed me sooner, there would be nothing wrong with her now!" His calm demeanor was starting to falter, giving way to a frustration not entirely aimed at the watcher./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="e358a007bcb9f0297283cd7318dd15a8""I had no need to tell you." Heimdall repeated. "What use is there to inform someone of something they already know?" He questioned, looking over his shoulder at Loki./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="a15f666c93f9f02bd05ba9480a1a5305"This gave him pause. His brows remained knit, and he frowned in silence. Finally, he looked up. "Tell me now; what happened to her?"/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="c291954bf6164398f1097138a5d1850e"This question brought the first true change to Heimdall's posture. He shifted as if he were made uncomfortable by the question. He knew, though he did not think Loki would want to know. "That is not a question you want me to answer, Loki." He said lowly, a solemn tone in his voice./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="0f871770c3018913a4e56b79293155d8""Heimdall. Tell me." Loki said, walking over now to face Heimdall directly. "I need to know. She has not spoken a word to me in a very long time.. I would have read her mind, I admit. Though you know as well as I that would only do more harm than good right now. So..please. Tell me." His frustration remained, though softened slightly. He was concerned, not only because Meaghan had once been his closest friend, but because he was becoming quite fond of her again. In the least, protective. He wanted to bring her home.. perhaps to show that he too, like Thor, could do something his parents could be proud of. Aside from his own wishes, Loki thought Meaghan had right to know the truth. In his mind, no one should have to go all their life believing a lie. They should know the truth..as soon as it could possibly be told./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="5faf756186d2a944f19e1ad8c92b4d27""You are only asking to bring pain to yourself," Heimdall warned, his eyes now trained on the younger prince. "It is not something you should take lightly. Should I show you, I advise you highly; do not ask her of it. It will set back any chance to bring her back to Asgard very far." A flicker of a smile crossed his face, before it vanished. He knew what Loki had planned. He had always known; when the time was right, he would be the one to bring Meaghan back to them. He had been close to her as a child, despite their age difference. His closeness to her, growth in the magical arts, and overall developing personality made him the right one for the job. Or, Heimdall judged it so. This was why he had taken liberty to shield Loki's memories of her./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="16e2a28ad32a07fe53a26fe862aff580""Give me your word, you will not ask her to speak of it."/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="b1fcf36ca8c5788f39134d2e60a720be"Loki paused, wondering once more what it could possibly be. Finally, he agreed./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-size: 18px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="a09c4f7c98c8b35db2e59b2bb3a525bb""You have my word."/p 


End file.
